It's form time in our class on a Monday morning and rain patters down onto London, heavy clouds darken the light of day. Not an uncommon occurrence and I usually favour this over bright sunlight, though today I can't stand it.
I guess I'm just tired.
The experiment yesterday took far longer than expected and there's only so long you can last without sleep apparently. Oh, I loathe sleeping; it's so time-consuming and unnecessary.
Body's just transport.
Is it possible to stop listening to your body's needs? One never knows, if one hasn't tried after all.
A glance at my watch confirms my sense of time to a point, in which our teacher is late five minutes now.
All around me the others are engaging in tiresome conversations and once again I'm rather relieved that I'm not a part of this and the seat beside me is empty.
I rest my chin in my hand. Maybe I could take a nap right here, nothing happens anyway.
I have to suppress a yawn and close my eyes slowly. It's rather nice actually, and not less comfortable than I'm used to, since I fall asleep at my desk at home more often than I care to keep track of.
The sound of muffled voices dies down eventually, which either means that our teacher has finally found her way to our class or the others have also decided to take a nap. Unlikely though.
I can hear her now, thanks to nerve-wracking high heels. God, I hate them.
But there's more; another pair of shoes.
Sneakers.
Male at our age, going by the sound of scuffing feet.
Someone lost his way? New classmate in mid-year? Trainee?
Damn my curiosity.
I crack an eye open and glance over the other's heads. A brief once-over reveals short light brownish hair, tanned skin and dark eyes, and confirms my suspicion of him to be a new classmate.
Dull.
Miss Courtsey states some facts about him and feels the need to advise him of the rules for class, which he will ignore like anyone else, sooner rather than later.
With a sigh I close my eyes again. I don't think she'll teach us something after all, and I'm not surprised either.
Finally the boy is dismissed and takes a seat in one of the front rows. There he'll stay for about a week probably, until he's found someone to follow around.
I risk another glance at my watch. Ten more minutes to go and then an entire hour of boring History stuff.
Lovely.
The rain paints an obscure design at the window and I occupy myself by finding a pattern within the water drops.
Apparently I had been wrong - At least I would have to admit, if I'd care about it. But since I don't care, I shan't admit it.
Within two days the new arrival has not only found himself someone to follow around, more precisely it appears he is the new leader of their small group, consisting of three blokes, whose names I never cared to memorise, and Mike Stamford.
The latter leaves me with a bit of an odd feeling, since Mike had never cared about being popular, and was also the only one I could come to for notes, if I hadn't been in school. It's amazing how fast the new boy got a reputation suitable for this development.
Amazing?
Well, let's just say: The human mind responds to the appearance of leadership rather quickly.
Boring.
Dull.
Predictable.
Though as long as he leaves me alone, I couldn't care less.
His name is John apparently. At least everyone around me is constantly saying 'John', talking to 'John', speaking about 'John' or just whispering the name like a secret.
I'm not eavesdropping. I don't have to.
It's just the common topic of conversation. You can't get away from it.
And the fact that he's now sitting next to Mike in front of me, is not helping at all.
Though the first thing I really notice about him is actually a piece of jewellery.
A necklace, in any sense of the word.
Dog Tags, to be precise. Two small pieces of metal, pinging together every time he moves. And although they're hidden inside his shirt most of the time, I'm still able to hear it.
It's so annoying.
Where did he get them anyway? Can't be his, obviously. He's far too young to have a pair of his own, so might be his father's.
Violently killed in battle?
Most likely.
I almost consider switching my place to avoid the nerve-wracking pinging sound, and let's not forget: to get out of the way of seemingly hundreds of people, because someone always walks up to his seat or drops something 'accidentally' on purpose right next to him.
But all of this is nothing compared to the sheer horror, which clutches me every time, someone considers my desk's corner to place their rear on it.
Luckily, it's enough to scowl at them until they get the hint and leave it be. And although all these 'things' are rather inconvenient, I can't bring myself to actually sit somewhere else, because I, myself, had declared this seat to be the best place to have: If I don't want to be seen, it's enough to just lean slightly to the left and I'm almost invisible, the temperature is good at summer as it is at winter, and I can see and hear everything I want to. So I stay and ignore all of it.
Almost five weeks into our new class situation and the hype around him is still on-going.
It's fascinating somehow. I wonder if I'll ever understand why he's so famous. He doesn't look at all like someone I'd associate popularity with; rather small, most boys - and even a few girls - are taller than him (this doesn't seem to concern him though). He smiles a lot, from what I've seen thus far.
Also Mike and John appear to be close friends now, at least that's how it looks like.
Not that I'd been looking, though.
It's just; I can't help but notice their laughter, and their bickering for that matter.
Mike always follows him around like a puppy and the other three boys (I can identify them now, since they're constantly hanging around their table) Alex Broody, Paul Hanson and Brian Lent are equally as mesmerized.
I'd have to chart any further development, maybe conduct an experiment...
Two months now.
Deemed the experiment to be rubbish. I have much more interesting things to investigate.
Also: I brought the art of ignorance to perfection. Well, I was quite good at it before, but nonetheless.
That's also the reason I don't even notice it, when John talks to me for the first time. Only when I hear Mike saying something in the lines of 'He's always like that' with a nod in my direction, I realize: John was talking to me.
I didn't reply to him though.
My own reputation is the best excuse for nearly anything.
I'm the 'Freak'.
I'm the one who knows everything, the one who speaks faster than others may think. I'm the one who gets rude without warning or cause, the one nobody wishes to associate with. And as I said before; I rather prefer it that way.
I don't need anyone.
Only a few days later, he captures my attention again.
The setting is nothing new to me: I sit alone at my desk before class, thinking about everything and nothing in particular, when some guys walk up to me, mocking and taunting me. I only spare them a glance from below.
They're not worth any effort or time and Mummy would only be disappointed if I got into a fight.
"Alright girls, leave him alone. He's obviously high above your standard." I don't even have to look to know, that it's John who had spoken. Good righteous 'John'.
I don't like him.
This statement however brings the boys to turn around to him and John sends them a smug grin. The redhead of their group (clearly their leader) stares at him in disbelief.
I'm about to insult them after all, to lead their interest back in my direction, when I see the redhead leaning down to ruffle John's hair. They end up laughing and taunting each other even more.
What happened there?
Eventually they leave and John raises a hand in greeting at their retreating backs and smirks. I don't know what I'd just witnessed, but I'm suddenly angry.
"I don't need your pity," I growl at him.
"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," John says and turns to smile at me. "Also you don't look at all like someone you need to have pity for."
I give a curt nod in confirmation and bring my attention back to read through the notes I've taken. For me the conversation is over.
The silence lasts only a moment though.
"Why do you always sit alone? Don't you have friends?"
I circle a random word (which doesn't mean anything, but he wouldn't know) and ignore him.
"You don't, do you?" John presses on.
I scratch a few numbers next to my writing, "Alone is what I have, alone protects me," I say in the end.
"This is rubbish," he huffs. "Everyone knows that Friends protect each other!"
This stills my hand and I look up to glare at him, "If it's not too much to comprehend for your little brain: I'm busy," I tell him, using the coldest tone I can muster.
He chuckles to himself (and for God's sake, how can anyone be so self-confident, so arrogant? It's preposterous!); "We meet at Bryan's home later. D' you want to join us?"
Well, this was unexpected. I'm a bit startled and have to blink a few times. "I can't", I say eventually."I didn't even tell you when."
"Doesn't matter. I still can't." I resume my scrawling.
"Can't or won't?" John waits patiently for an answer I don't plan to give him, leaving him to his own deductions. "You're not quite the speaker, are you?" he continues amused.
I carry on ignoring him, and he turns around with a small sigh just as our teacher enters the room.
Finally.
Another rainy day in London, although it's a Thursday this time.
Since John joined our class almost three months ago, things had become surprisingly different.
The others search for his approval like nothing else, and since the one time he called those blokes off of me, they've... not stopped, but lessened their taunting game and ignore me, which is a relief for me.
Also since this day, John's turning around to me more often and it gets harder to overlook his efforts, probably because he's always so damn... understanding about me.
And he doesn't seem to be perturbed at all, about me being oblivious.
'Hey Sherlock,' he would start most of the time (the opening is not varying very much), and I would only look up at him, revealing nothing whatsoever.
Then he'd tell me something about his rugby training, the kitchen disaster his sister had to account for, or his grandmother's complaints about him being away too often, due to too much rugby and friends.
I never say anything, but I notice he applies himself to make it sound eminently funny: He makes ridiculous expressions and sometimes disguises his voice to make me laugh. He does have a really expressive face and knows how to use it. I don't do him the favour of laughing, though sometimes I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from smiling.
Between talking, he slips in a question once in a while.
I don't answer it though.
At some point, he would start with a 'We wanted to go to …,' this is usually the part to fill in with whatever is planned for the day, and ends in a variety of different 'Join us?'.
And every time, I would just shake my head and resume whatever I'm doing.
'Maybe next time,' he'd say, smile at me (I can't actually see that, but he always does it, and yeah, okay, maybe if I make an effort I can see it through my eyelashes), and turn back around.
I'd look back up then, and stare at his profile while he talks to Mike. I wonder if John just asks me to join him, because he knows I'll decline... though I can't see the logic to that, in fact why he bothers at all with me is a mystery to me.
Probably he just can't stand that he's not loved by everyone (me). I am the blind spot in his eye, and he wants to get rid of it.
Today it's sunny in London. Only a few clouds cover the sky and are more of an accessory than an actual threat of rain.
John is even more cheerful than I've seen him before, or at least, whilst talking to me.
He's about to explain how he means to tackle his comrades off their feet in his after school rugby training, but I'm only listening with one ear. Which is more attention than anyone should be spending when talking about sports if you'd ask me.
I'm concerned about the bacteriological culture I set up yesterday which is likely about to die, due to too much light in my room. Mummy has probably opened the closed curtains to 'let in some light', which is just ridiculous.
John is doing something moronic with his arms to demonstrate his plan and laughs and it's too loud and suddenly far too much.
My hands crash down onto my desk and causes John to fall silent.
"Can you just. Leave. Me. Alone." I hiss at him and the words ring through my ears like an echo.
Mike turns around and is now looking at me in horror and my anger vanishes in an instant.
What have I done?
"Not good?" I ask tentatively, quietly.
"Bit not good, yeah," John confirms and clears his throat. I watch him when he turns back around, and look at Mike, searching for help. He just shakes his head and also turns.
I stare at their backs and again I wonder; what have I done? I don't know what it means that I can suddenly feel a flimsy ache in my stomach.
I inspect the papers in front of me and suddenly realize, I haven't written a single word.
Why?
He doesn't turn around to me the next morning.
Nor the morning after that.
I watch him when he talks to Mike, laughs with Alex and Brian or bickers with Paul.
He overlooks me.
Well, now I can go back to ignoring all of them, like I always have.
Quiet.
Calm.
Peaceful.
I look down at my notes, my pen hovering in the air.
I've nothing taken down whatsoever.
So it seems John is really rather stubborn, if you ask me. He hasn't turned around to me since this incident four days ago.
Didn't say 'hello' or acknowledged me in any other way.
And I've no idea why it bothers me this much. Why it even bothers me slightly.
Somehow I can't just go back to ignore everything around me.
Isn't it hateful?
This night, I don't sleep.
And for the first time it isn't due to an experiment or an unfinished thought.
I'm lying in bed staring at the ceiling and I feel guilty. Today I'd hit a new low.
As before I couldn't keep my eyes off him.
Off John.
Stupid.
Every time someone walked up to him and asked for anything, I found myself listening. And the few times I caught myself staring, I forced my gaze back down.
How can I bring him to pay attention to me?
I haven't the faintest idea until Ms Courtsey entered the room, our latest test in hand.
Perfect.
So I took hold of the paper she handed out and let my gaze slid to John once more, who's looking at his own test.
'Oh,' I said watching him, '98 out of 100 again.'
John froze briefly, I could see the way his shoulders sagged.
He didn't turn around then.
Oh.
Of course he wouldn't.
Only because he has marveled my intelligence before, doesn't mean he wants to be confronted with his own stupidity. Who would ever wanted that?
I sigh into the darkness and try to sleep.
The weekend passes and Monday arrives.
He's still not talking to me.
Or spared a glance in my direction for that matter.
My eyes switch from John to Mike and back. I try to wait patiently for them to end their conversation, my fingers tapping out a fast rhythm on my desk.
I'm really bad at being patient.
I clear my throat once.
Wait.
They're still talking.
I try again. A bit more pointedly, harder to miss.
They fall silent and slowly turn around to look at me. And why did I think this was a good idea?
"Yes?" John enquires and Mike raises his eyebrows at me.
"I-, I'm...," God, calm down. You're actually stammering, you've never done this before, keep it together. I clear my throat again for good measure, which supplies a few more seconds to sort my thoughts. "I'm not very good at conversations." I come up with in the end and feel myself blush.
Body's betraying me.
They both blink at me surprised and when John breaks out into a wide grin, I feel so ridiculously relieved... how comes I didn't notice how much I missed his smile?
"My sister's just the same, especially talking to adults," John assures me and giggles. "Do you have any siblings?" he asks and I'm only too happy to take the bait.
"I've a brother, he's seven years my senior, though I don't think he has such problems. He wants to become a part of the government later." Is this too much information?
"Wow," John says astonished and Mike's mouth is hanging open.
"I don't like him," I add in lack of anything else to say.
"Well, I can imagine," John blinks a few times. "Though the question is: Does anyone actually like their sibling?"
Mike shakes his head, "I don't think so."
John frowns at him in return, "You're an only child."
"Well, I might not have siblings, but believe me, it's really hard to rival with a dog. Or three of them," Mike states dryly.
"Sibling rivalry at its best!" John starts to laugh and Mike joins in, while I watch them a bit helpless.
John takes a few calming breaths and then grins at me again. "We wanted to play some rugby later. Are you coming?"
It doesn't sound appealing to me.
At all.
I nod in agreement and John beams at me. I have to force myself to look down, afraid I would give away too much.
The smile tugging at my lips feels strange and rusty and wonderful.
I can't remember the last time I've been this happy.
Okay lovelies, I'm so sorry I had a problem with the format... It should be better now though, I hope... :/
Love, Cx